Motorcycle
by SoulMalady
Summary: It's been five years since the war and Harry is acting a bit strange around Draco. What the hell is going on and why are there two Potters who have starkly contrasting personalities? Harry/Draco slash one-shot. M for swears, not smut


Draco Malfoy shut off the taps and held still with an ear tilted towards the door, listening to the usual silence of his home being broken by the sound of cupboards being opened. His alarm hadn't rung to alert him of an intruder. He stepped out of the shower, taking care to make as little noise as possible as he grabbed his damp towel and wrapped it around his waist. His fingers clutched his wand tight and he tiptoed through the carpeted corridor that was unlit and felt a bit colder than before. He dripped water along the way down the stairs, his grip doubling in strength as his muscles tensed, ready for a fight.

The only light shining in his home was the one from the kitchen, where the sounds arose. He paused with his back to the wall and took a deep, strangled breath while summoning up some courage. Then he peeked in to see what he would have to handle.

His gaze roved over the brown-clad figure standing over his sink, also dripping with water from a downpour; which was strange because it wasn't raining outside. The man stood casually enough with his slim shoulders relaxed and his head bent down. Draco held his breath and readied his wand while sidling over to stand squarely in the doorway.

The man froze as though sensing a presence.

Before Draco could speak the curse, the man spun around, his thick overcoat snapping harshly from the force.

"Oh, sweet Jesus _fuck_, man!" Harry Potter breathed. He leaned against the counter in relief and pocketed his wand. He held a bitten apple in the other. He looked much less threatening when he was turned the right way. His black hair hung across his brow and stuck out every which way atop his head. He wasn't wearing any glasses, oddly enough. He seemed to be growing stubble too.

The overall _presence_ of Potter was enough to render Draco speechless. His arm dropped to the side and he simply gawked. Harry Potter had just broken into his house.

"Didn't know you were home," Harry mumbled before taking another bite of the apple. "I'm starving." He meandered forward with a hand in his pocket. Draco didn't move a muscle, not even when Harry walked right up to him. He gulped hard, loud enough for the sound to carry a bit. Loud enough for Potter to hear. "What?" the man asked after swallowing his bite. Then he smiled.

Draco had seen his fair share of frights in his life, but this… _smile_. It was, by far, the creepiest thing he had _ever_ seen. His eyes squeezed shut on their own accord, in fact. Potter was going to kill him. Potter was going to run a dagger through his heart, then slit his throat, and then watch bleed him to death. Just a matter of time. Any second now.

"Um..."

Draco scrambled away as a sudden rush of adrenaline shot through him. He fumbled with his wand while blindly tripping back over his feet and the rug.

But, before he could move further than a meter, he was jerked forward by the arm and shoved against the wall. The wand was twisted out of his hand, leaving him defenseless and more than a little terrified. It would be months before anyone found his body. No one would miss him. This was such a pathetic way to die.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry, sorry. Stop!" Harry rushed as he restrained Draco. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Stop? Please?"

"Get out of my house," Draco finally managed to heave out. He didn't care why Potter was in there. He just wanted the man gone. Now.

"Right, of course. This happens now." Harry let go of Draco and stepped back. "Let's make sure you don't hex me," he muttered under his breath as he kicked Malfoy's wand away. It rolled off under the couch. "Sorry. Wrong house," he seceded, raising his hands in surrender. His lips were beginning to quirk up into that frightening smile yet again. He picked up the apple he had dropped during their struggle, brushing it free of dirt. "Thanks for the apple, love." He slinked out of the foyer on light feet, disappearing into the deep night as mysteriously as he had appeared. The roar of a heavy motorcycle sounded from the street. A few seconds later, the bike had already moved far beyond earshot, leaving Draco truly alone.

He slid to the ground with his head in his hands. "What the hell?" he exhaled in disbelief.

After the war, he had all but faded into the background of everyone's lives. He was sentenced to _many_ years of slaving for the Ministry, which included running errands, writing lengths of monotonous data on parchment rolls, and basically being a lackey. At least it was better than Azkaban. Debatably. So his life was void of all excitement. He worked and slept. He rarely spoke to anyone and simply nodded when spoken to. He had forgotten what it felt like to have blood pump into your veins forcefully.

The next morning, he caught just a glimpse of Potter and his team stalking down the hallway intensely. He kept his eyes down when they passed by the office he was hiding in. He had a feeling that he should be reporting the events of the night before. But he found no signs of forced entry. It was as though Potter had simply _walked_ into his home.

The Potter he had seen in his house was starkly different from the Potter he saw at work. Auror Potter wore sharp, black-framed glasses, was always clean-shaven and gelled his hair away from his face. His robes were impeccable and his mouth was always set in a grim, thin line, as though he was sorely disappointed in everything that met his eye. The drenched Potter from last night had been more of a confusing caricature of Auror Potter. What was the man doing?

Or maybe Potter hadn't done anything after all. Maybe Draco had been dreaming something strange. He shook his head to himself. That must be it. He had begun to go mental from isolation. He juggled the bundles of papers in his arms as he made his way out the door.

He was in his own world for just a moment when he was struck from the side and sent careening into a marble pillar. Parchment fluttered around him in a heaping mess.

"For heaven's sake," Harry snapped under his breath as he righted himself against the wall.

Draco's eyes widened and he quickly dropped to one knee while keeping his head down, frantically pushing the papers into a pile in his shaking hands.

"At least apologize, you oaf," he heard Harry growl. Then he saw the Auror's shoes click once against the floor and tap away rapidly. Obviously he wasn't _really_ expected to speak, the lowly peon that he was. He was left to deal with the chaos on his own. The handful of spectators was also leaving after making sure their precious Savior was unscathed. Draco pulled a face.

He ate lunch alone, always. He ate all his meals alone, in fact. He had a small lunchroom that all of the clerks used. It was always too warm and smelt of spoilt milk. There were three table squished around the room. Draco always took the one by the window, glaring at anyone who tried to steal that spot from him. He ate his food at exactly twelve noon. His lunch consisted of two slices of bread with a piece of ham and cheese in the middle. Sometimes he would spice things up with lettuce. He wasn't feeling too adventurous that day, though.

So why was Potter toying with him? He propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm. The Auror had refused to acknowledge his existence for the past four years. Draco had felt nothing but envy and disgust for the Boy-Who-Lived who was living the high life with his fancy houses, fancy brooms and fancy girls. He was on a different playing field altogether. Not a day went by when Potter wasn't splashed all over the front page of the Prophet, the headlines always singing praises. Draco kicked at one of the legs of the table. Damn Potter.

* * *

When they met again a few weeks later, things were looking a bit grisly.

Draco was huddled in a corner with his head tucked against his knees and fire licking the walls around him, ready to engulf him the moment a gust of wind blew the wrong way.

The fire had started just moments ago in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, ironically enough. The enforcers had brought in a strange artifact found in an abandoned and charred warehouse in rural Durham. Unfortunately, their readings had been wrong and the stark red gem was not inert after all. It had spontaneously combusted, causing the entire office to burst into flames. The fire was rampant too. It quickly spread from the East Wing and was eating its way through the entire fourth floor.

Draco's fear of fire had been a result of his brush with death during the Second War when he was nearly burned alive in the Fiendfyre. He had been unable to use the Floo or burn logs in his fireplace after that. So, watching panicked Ministry members run for their lives wasn't enough to get him to move. He had been frozen on the spot and all he could do was fall to the ground while trembling.

Thankfully, wizards are a bit hardy. It would be a pity if they burst into flames that easily. His magic was preventing the fire from coming too close. That was how he ended up pressed against the wall with fire around him, threatening to kill him at the slightest provocation.

Amidst the roar of crackling wood, he heard a rustle of cloth close to him. He jerked when he felt a cloak fluttering over his curled body. "Let's go," Harry said urgently. Draco shook his head. He couldn't talk because fear had taken his voice away. He knew he wouldn't be able to walk either. He'd rather just die there.

Harry wouldn't let him. He tugged Draco forcibly while swearing under his breath. Draco lurched in response, unable to counter Potter's strength with his own dwindling resolution to die. He staggered up to his feet with his eyes screwed shut. This was the second time Harry was saving him from a fire. He let himself be guided through the destroyed offices, his breath labored and his steps faltering from terror. Harry never let go of him. His fingers dug into Draco's arm as he half-ran and half-tripped his way to safety. He didn't even stop at the stairs. He dragged Draco down it despite hearing the man's stumbling footsteps. He threw the door open and shoved Draco into the third floor corridor before slamming the door shut and throwing spells at it to stop the fire from escaping.

Draco fell to the floor once again, this time in disbelief. He was still alive. His hand killed him, but he was still alive. He looked down at it, cringing when he saw that he had burned his fingers and half of his palm. He swiped at his cheeks to get rid of his insistent tears.

"Here. Put this on."

Draco looked up at Harry who was holding out a small copper container.

"For your burn," Harry explained. He knelt down next to Draco when he received no response. He opened up the tin and swiped at the balm with two fingers. It was translucent and green. He took Draco's hand by the wrist and smoothed cooling paste on blistering skin. Draco glanced away while inhaling sharply. Pain was not his friend. "Just for a bit," Harry murmured, as though he had read Draco's mind. "It won't scar now that you have this on."

Draco didn't speak until Harry had finished coating his hand with the balm. He could hear commotion upstairs and knew that the firefighters had arrived. He worked on calming his breath and resting his swimming head. He should be dead now.

"Good thing I came by, huh?"

Draco turned to glare at Harry through watery eyes.

"Yes, yes. I know," Harry surrendered while wiping his hand on his jeans. He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak that lay discarded on the floor. "No need to thank me or anything."

At that moment, Draco could think of nothing else but pure agony, so he didn't feel all that bad about not thanking Harry.

"Stop crying," Harry whispered as he pressed his forehead against Draco's. He smelt of something sweet that overpowered the smell of smoke. His fingers brushed against Draco's cheek, tracing the dark tear tracks.

Before Draco could take a rattling breath, sounds of running footsteps came from around the corner.

"Sorry. Gotta go," Harry groaned in dismay while getting up on his feet. "Stay out of trouble." He threw the cloak over himself, disappearing instantly.

"Over there! Someone's over there!"

Draco felt hands on him a moment later and he struggled weakly. He was being pulled up to his feet and then made to lie down on a soft stretcher. He was still disoriented, so he couldn't even tell top from bottom. He had gone insane. He must have gone insane if he was seeing Harry lean over him, asking him short, clipped questions without a trace of that smile or stubble or sooty cheeks. This Potter was Auror Potter. And this Potter sounded _very_ angry with him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hold in his bewildered sobs, but he wasn't doing such a good job of it. He heard a vague charm beside him and he started breathing in pure air. He drifted off to sleep that way, unaware of the commotion around him.

* * *

He stirred in a hospital bed in a groggy state. He had been sedated and Merlin knew how long he had been out for. But he sure as hell knew that he wouldn't be able to afford the visit. He forced himself to stay awake despite the potion prompting him to keep sleeping. He felt bandages around his hand, bringing him back to the present. He had nearly died in that fire. He struggled to sit up before panic could set in again. He had nearly been burned to a crisp. He'd be damned if he wouldn't suffer an anxiety attack at the mere sight of a picture of an alit fireplace. He was most likely scarred for life. He shuddered at his morbid thoughts. Right now, he had to figure out how he could get himself discharged so he wouldn't have to keep paying for the bed.

"You haven't recovered yet."

Draco whipped his head to the side, cracking his neck in the process. He winced at the sight of Potter and the strumming pain on his back. The Auror was sitting on a straight-backed chair that stood against the hospital-green curtain that separated them from the patient in the bed next to them. He held a magazine in one hand. He must have been sitting there for a while, then. Draco didn't care to know why. "I have to go," he murmured as he pushed away the sheets.

"Where?" Harry's voice had turned hard. It was the tone he often took while interrogating suspects.

"I can't go anywhere but home," Draco snapped back as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Did Potter really think that he was trying to flee the country? He was glad to see that he still wore the clothes he owned, despite it being charred. Perhaps his case had been mild enough that he didn't require further examination. That definitely brought the costs down. He waited a few moments to still his spinning head.

"The Mediwizard wants you to stay for at least five more hours, Malfoy," Harry told him.

"I can't afford another five hours, Potter," Draco muttered under his breath. His back was turned to Harry and he experimented putting his feet down on the cold floor. He felt healthy enough except for his sore throat and heavy lungs. He must have inhaled quite a lot of smoke.

"You aren't paying for this."

Draco stilled.

"It's workplace compensation. It's not money out of your pocket," Harry said. "So stay for five hours, okay?"

Draco exhaled in defeat. He looked down at his hand that was wrapped in white gauze.

"Someone helped you out of there, right?" Harry inquired. "Do you know who it was?"

"I don't know, Potter," Draco said between clenched teeth. "Why are you here?"

That question was received with silence. Then he heard the chair scrape against the tiled floors and soft footsteps moving away until he was alone in his little partition. He relaxed. He didn't particularly fancy being watched. He lay back on the pillow and pulled the covers over up to his waist. Then he stared up at the white ceiling while attempting to recall every detail of his encounter with Potter in the fire.

After that day, his eyes tracked Potter whenever he caught a glimpse of him. He watched the man in the lobby, striding into his office, yelling at his team, glowering at criminals and being just plain unpleasant. Apparently the aftermath of the war hadn't been kind to him either. He was revered and feared by everyone around him. He just held so much power in his hands. He had become Head Auror three years after training due to his ambition and drive. He had caught more criminals in his short service than many Aurors had caught in their lifetimes. He rarely went home. Rumor had it that his expansive office was fitted with a bed and all amenities required for him to stay remotely civilized. He never had a hair out of place. He was so unlike the Potter Draco had known in school.

So he started wondering if that was even the real Potter. Perhaps this Potter was a conspiracy. The Potter that had saved him from the fire seemed more or less 'normal'. He blanched. Okay, not normal. Just… _more_ like the Potter from school – careless, beaming and young. Maybe Auror Potter was an imposter.

Draco redoubled his efforts by squinting every time he saw Potter pass by. He didn't dare _talk_ to the man, of course. Squinting was the best he could do. He squinted _really_ hard too. But he got no evidence from all his days of squinting to prove that Potter wasn't who he said he was.

"You are being _very_ distracting, Malfoy," Harry murmured, startling Draco out of his wits. The latter had been minding his own business, pushing papers together and flicking them off to the designated offices when the Auror snuck up behind him, quiet as ever. Draco whipped around and pressed against the table as his chest clenched. But Harry didn't _seem_ threatening. He just looked a bit confused. "Why have you been glaring at me?" he asked. His voice was low and discrete.

"I haven't," Draco lied point-blank.

"I've noticed."

"I'm allowed to glare."

"No, you are not. Not at me."

Draco didn't speak. His nostrils flared angrily and he breathed a bit heavy, as though fierce words were being kept under wraps inside him.

"Well, you've never glared at me _before_, I mean," Harry clarified. "Not since the war."

"What do you want?" Draco growled.

"What do _you_ want?" Harry countered.

They each stood their ground for a while. But they could only do that for so long before both of them became uncomfortable and felt a little silly.

Harry stepped back. "Keep glaring, if you want," he said flippantly. "I don't care." He walked away with his nose turned up and his hands in his pockets.

Draco wanted nothing more than to smash that smug face against the wall. He wrung his wand between his hands while baring his teeth at the back of Potter's head.

He made _sure_ to keep glaring and squinting at Potter, just to spite him. He didn't even try to hide it, in fact. If Potter glanced up at him after sensing the obvious stare, Draco simply intensified his glare. Sometimes he was tempted to shake his fists at the Auror too, but he was much too dignified to do something so juvenile. He did that in his head instead.

Potter, to his credit, never acknowledged Draco's looks after that confrontation. He looked through the man as though he were transparent. Draco hated that even more. He hated Potter's stupid uniform and his stupid badge and his stupid face.

It felt _so_ good to start hating again.

Harry shut the door to his office behind him and finally relaxed for the night. His days often bled together into a mush of arrests and paperwork. Life of an Auror was far from glamorous. He groaned in pain as he fell onto his well-worn couch, kicking of his shoes so he could curl up on the cushions. His joints ached and his head killed him. He hated the responsibility almost as much as he loved the satisfaction of putting criminals behind bars. He could never win with this job. He flipped over onto his back and stared up at the ornate ceiling.

Malfoy had been on his mind for the past few months now. How strange… He closed his eyes. Draco Malfoy was the _only_ man who dared to glare at the Head Auror. The _only_ man. Somehow, seeing that glare made his day a bit less serious. He smiled to himself, then frowned in horror. What was he thinking? He rubbed his eyes fiercely. He was going mental.

He felt a bit sorry from Draco. The man had been slaving away for the Ministry for nearly five years now. From the sounds of it, he barely made enough money to sustain himself. He still looked dapper, but that was the Malfoy pride showing through his old clothes. He had been noticing Draco a lot more after that fire. He never spoke to anyone, kept his head down and did his work promptly. He started at eight and left at five. Just a regular salaryman. He wondered how embarrassing that must feel for Draco to be working _for_ someone.

Maybe all that work had made him grow a spine, though. He had actually held his own when Harry had confronted him about all that staring. While he had seemed frightened, he didn't back down.

See? He was thinking about Malfoy again. Harry hit his palm against his head. He was trying to physically knock the thoughts out of his mind. Malfoy could go jump in a hole, for all he cared. He needed to focus on work now.

* * *

Draco was just unlatching the stall door when he heard a loud bang of the bathroom door slamming against the wall, as though it had been thrown open. He heard a fierce mutter of a locking spell as well, indicating that whoever had barged in wanted some privacy. He quickly stepped back into the stall as quietly as possible, keeping his hand on the handle. He heard some quiet swears that quickly broke off into muffled sniffs and ragged breathing. He rolled his eyes. He was stuck in the loo with a sniveling idiot.

The stall he had chosen was the farthest one from the sinks, so he opened the door an inch and peered out. He slumped even further when he recognized the man who was leaning his back against the counter and hiding his face in his hands. He kicked himself for not having revealed himself sooner. He reached behind him and flushed the toilet deliberately.

Harry started when he heard the sound of gushing water. He quickly spun around and turned on the taps so he could splash some water in his face to hide his tears.

Draco walked slowly. He didn't want to startle the man again. He watched Harry through the corner of his eye as he washed his hands, noting how the man clutched the counter with pale fingers and struggled to keep his breathing even. Harry had closed his eyes tight when he saw who was trapped in the bathroom with him. Trust his luck to lose it in front of Malfoy.

"Something wrong?" Draco asked a little too smugly.

"Get the fuck out of my face," Harry snarled.

Draco arched a brow. It wasn't often that you heard Potter threatening someone so very blatantly. "Nothing to cry about," he mocked.

"For fuck's sake," Harry faltered. He pressed a hand to his mouth and sniffled, which were both quite emasculating gestures. "Just leave."

Draco shut off the faucet and stayed where he was. Harry looked overworked and overwhelmed like this. He had pushed his glasses up onto his hair and he wasn't standing up straight any longer. He was flushed from his tears and his voice cracked whenever he tried to speak. He looked so pathetic that even Draco felt sorry for him. "Take it easy," he murmured. "You don't have to do everything at once."

Harry looked up at Draco with his watery green eyes. "Hmm?"

"You have… what? At least twenty years left in you?" Draco reasoned. "Don't try to do everything at once. Take your time."

"There's just… so much to do," Harry tried to say through his gasps. "I can't take my time. Everyone expects me to do this."

"Surprise them, Potter," Draco drawled. "It sucks doing what everyone expects you to do. Trust me on that one." He pushed off of the sinks. "Man up." He opened the bathroom door with a flick of his wand and walked out feeling a bit better about himself. Hell, he was better off than Potter at that point.

* * *

He was on his way to the store when he saw a familiar shadow in the corner of his eye. He wasn't even surprised anymore. He stopped short by the alleyway and waited for Potter to catch up to him.

"Hello," Harry said cheerily.

"What?" Draco asked as he resumed walking up the street.

"Let's go _this_ way," Harry suggested. He grabbed Draco by the elbow and pulled him to the right onto the grassy field by the park. Draco didn't struggle as he was guided up the deserted hill that overlooked a small community of Muggles. Once they reached the very top, Harry let go of him and sat down next to a shady tree. It was almost sunset and they could watch the sun go down from where that spot.

Draco sat beside him hesitantly. He heard a clink and looked at Harry to find him pouring out amber liquid into two small glasses from a flask. He handed one to Draco who took it without a word. "Just need to take my mind off of something," Harry mumbled before downing the contents of his cup in one gulp. This wasn't Auror Potter, of course. Auror Potter would _never_ drink.

"Off of what?" Draco asked as he tasted the drink. He wrinkled his nose at it. "Um…" It wasn't even alcohol. It was warm honeyed tea with a hint of mint.

"I don't drink," Harry sighed. "Sometimes I wish I did."

"That's a tad dramatic."

"Whatever." He poured himself another glass of tea. "How's your hand?"

Draco looked down at it to make sure it was fine. No scars, no burns. He held it out for Harry to see.

"Perfect," Harry smiled. "I'm glad."

"Why?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you glad?" Draco wanted to know. "You aren't Potter."

"I'm not?"

"No. Potter's at work."

"How would you know?"

"He's always at work."

"That's kind of sad."

"He's a sad man."

Harry flicked his eyes at Draco. "I know," he murmured. He went back to staring at the pink clouds. "Say, Draco?"

"What?"

"If I made someone _really_ mad – like… you, for instance – what would I have do to make it up to them?"

Draco stilled for a second, then turned to look at Harry. "Mad how?" he asked carefully.

"Doesn't matter how," Harry told him. "What would make you feel better?"

"Groveling would be nice."

Harry flinched. "Really?" He didn't find that idea all that appealing.

"Oh, yes. Groveling and a lot of apologies."

"I hate groveling," Harry huffed. A soft tinkling pulled him out of his misery and he glanced at his watch. "Oh. I'd best be off." He got up, but not before handing the warm flask to Draco. "Finish that off for me."

"Wait." Draco scrambled up to his feet. "Who are you?"

Harry titled his head and winked. "I'm Potter, aren't I?" he said lightly. "Remember what you said!" He ran down the hill and around the corner, disappearing from Draco's sight once again.

Draco stomped about in frustration. Potter was really bloody infuriating. He kicked at rocks and flowers alike to get rid of the helpless feeling. Potter be damned.

* * *

Draco was about to take his first bite out of his sandwich when he was interrupted by the Head Auror sitting down opposite him at the table. His mouth hung open and his sandwich was promptly forgotten. He tried to frantically recall if he had said or done something that warranted such an impromptu visit. After that bathroom incident, they hadn't spoken in nearly a fortnight.

"Sorry to intrude," Harry said stiffly.

Draco placed his lunch down on the plate with careful fingers, now keeping his eyes on the food instead of staring owlishly at the Auror. "Did you need something?" he asked.

Harry shifted in his seat. He was glad that there was nobody else around. "That evening. In the bathroom…" he trailed off.

"Had another episode since?" Draco taunted without much bite.

"I just wanted to thank you," Harry continued as though Draco hadn't spoken. "I was having a bad day and I apologize for the things I said."

Draco was really fed up with the different personalities Potter seemed to posses. He sat forward with a frustrated sigh. "Look, Potter," he said frankly enough to cause the Auror to look up in surprise. "Don't use your half-arsed flattery around me. You are a _very_ confusing man to handle to begin with. I don't want you lying to my face as well."

"I'm not lying," Harry argued. "I am sincerely sorry, Malfoy."

"I find it hard to believe."

Harry pressed a hand to his heart and gave Draco a genuine nod. "I am eternally grateful for your unsolicited advice, Draco Malfoy," he said solemnly.

Draco had half the mind to chuck his sandwich at Potter. He glared at the man instead.

Harry smiled back. "And, while we are being brutally honest," he continued, "I-"

"Don't," Draco interjected. "I've changed my mind. Let's _not_ be brutally honest with each other. I made a mistake in suggesting it."

"Mhm," Harry agreed as his smile widened. "What else do you suggest I do, then?"

"Pardon?"

"To surprise everyone," he clarified. "You wanted me to surprise them."

Draco trained his eyes on Harry for a few moments, trying to read between the lines. Auror Potter looked a lot like weird Potter when he smiled. Draco thought back to the conversation he had had with Potter on that hill. He had asked Potter to grovel and apologize. Is that was he was doing? Not really. This Potter was mocking and bantering. "I don't know," he said with a vague shrug. "Lose the glasses, stop gelling your hair, start growing a beard, and get a motorcycle."

There was stunned silence for a beat. Then Harry started laughing incredulously. "That's oddly specific," he remarked. "Given this some thought, have you?"

"You could say that."

He shook his head while grinning. Draco was really starting to intrigue him. He pulled his glasses off. "Like this?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure."

"But I can't see."

"Great. Go away."

* * *

Harry shook the rain from his hair as he walked into his house. He kicked off his shoes in the foyer and felt his way through the dark hallway, flicking on the lights when he got to the dining room. He threw his wet coat onto the chair before entering the kitchen. "Smells good," he hummed.

Draco turned with a saucy spoon in his hand. "Someone's got to… do the cooking…" he trailed off, roving his eyes over Harry's appearance. His gaze stopped short when he got to Harry's right hand that clutched a half-eaten apple.

Harry curled into himself and raised his arms to shield himself from the onslaught of vegetables that were hurled his way. "Wait, wait! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Draco!" he kept saying as he felt tomatoes and carrots striking him. "I'm sorry!"

"You fucking scared the piss out of me, you bastard!" Draco shouted. "Don't ever do that to me again! I fucking hate you, you shit!" He soon ran out of vegetables to throw, so he whipped around to look for something better.

Harry turned him back around before he could find the knife drawer. "I'm sorry," he simpered. "It was an accident."

"Damn it, Potter," Draco swore. "I couldn't sleep all night. Do you understand? I thought you'd gone mental and was going to stab me."

"I know, I know. Forgive me? It's entirely my fault. I wasn't paying attention. I didn't mean to, okay? I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Stop that," Draco scowled. "I hate it when you grovel."

"But you said-"

"Well, I'm starting to hate it."

Harry slid his arms around Draco's waist. "Forgiven?" he asked sweetly.

"Fuck you."

"Thanks, love."

Draco growled when Harry hugged him tight. "I am getting rid of that motorcycle in the morning," he muttered.

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "No! It's Sirius'!"

"Damned time traveling machine. Drives me insane."

"Please, Draco?"

"Oh, shut up."


End file.
